Happy holidays, friends! Can you believe it’s almost Christmas? I can’t.

But in the spirit of Christmas and giving all the wonderful gifts to your loved ones, I came up with a few little gifts that would be fantastic for a variety of people in your life. I genuinely love all of these brands, and I think you will too. So what do you say? Let’s get to it!

Phone Case

You might think this is a boring gift, but, let me tell you, CaseApp is changing the game. With their easy to use site, you can create custom cases for your phone with images from your own collection. Did you take a snazzy photo of some succulents? Why not make it a case! Snag a sweet picture of you and your honey on vacation this year? Make that a case!

The image quality is amazing, and the case itself is protective and built to last. The perfect gift!

5-Free Nail Polish

Now what the heck am I talking about? Well, five-free nail polish doesn’t contain the five harmful chemicals that are commonly found in everyday nail polishes. How cool is that? My favorite 5-free nail polish that I’ve found is none other than a local company, Palate Polish! The colors that she comes up with are all inspired by various foods and flavors, and they’re all so beautiful. My favorites are the muted tones, especially a polish she makes called “Turmeric”, but she has a huge variety to choose from.

Tea, Anyone?

Anyone who knows me well knows this: I am a fool for a cup of tea. But not just any tea: good tea. The tea that makes you smile a little bit after each sip, marveling at the sweet combination of flavors. (Okay, I’ll stop fan-girling, for now…)

In any case, tea is a wonderful gift. Especially from smaller, artisanal tea shops. One of my favorites is The Jasmine Pearl, located in Portland, Oregon. They make some of the best tea I’ve ever had! My personal favorites include Dark Forest, with rich cocoa nibs and chicory, as well as Golden Fire, a spicy and comforting tea with cayenne and ginger.

Need a few extra ideas? I’ve got you covered:

A leather notebook from Bull and Stash. I have one and it’s high quality!

Printed out photos, perfect for reminiscing. One of the best places to print them online is Squared, and I love the polaroid look they have.

It's time for another Woman Crush Wednesday! Can you dig it? I certainly hope so. This week's feature is literally cooking up some major badassery. *Cue Chris Traeger voice* So who is this gal, exactly? Amalia Pagura, a queen I met at work about a year ago, is a baker, a blogger, and a seriously rad person located in the Pacific Northwest. Her beautiful blog, Cake to Crumb, includes not only delicious recipes and lovely photos, but also, a ton of humor. And if there're two things I adore, they're baked goods and a good laugh. So grab yourself some tea, coffee, maybe even wine, and if possible, a croissant. It's going to be a good chat. Trust me.

Q: Hey gal! So, let’s start at the beginning: when did you first start baking?

A: I started baking when I was in my early teens. I don’t remember an exact age, all I remember is being bored as hell and really wanting to eat cake. So I decided to make a red velvet cake from scratch and I fell in love. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to stop!

Q: What is it about baking specifically that inspires you to keep pursuing it?

A: I have a crazy sweet tooth, so a lot of the time I pursue it for myself. I’m selfish, yes. But also feeding people and seeing them enjoy something I made is really cool. I like fattening people up, it’s a joy of mine. It’s also really fun trying new and different recipes and methods when it comes to baking. There’s always room to learn and improve!

Q: Was cooking a big part of your childhood growing up?

A: Definitely! My mom cooked homemade meals everyday. She would also bake and sell cakes to friends and family as well as homemade pasta noodles. My dad has been making and selling homemade sausage and cured meats for about 20 years now. So cooking has definitely been a big part of my childhood. It continues to inspire and influence me to this day.

Q: What made you decide to start a blog about your baking adventures?

A: Really I was just bored. I was young, I had the time, so I decided why not? I was not the after-school-activity type of person so this became one of my hobbies. Suck it track and field.

Q: If you could only bake one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?

A: This question is probably my worst nightmare. The internal struggle I’m having right now is very real. I don’t know. Probably croissants because I have a serious weakness for pastries and I love butter (more butter more better). Plus, they’re so versatile, they can be made savory or sweet. I think I’m just trying to convince myself I made the right decision here. Help.

Amalia's Browned Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Q: What’s your favorite thing about baking? The process? The flavors? The end result?

A: Eating. I like the eating part. But sure, maybe a couple other things too. Like the fact that a few simple ingredients like flour, sugar, eggs, etc. can make something as delicious as cake or bread, is incredible to me. It brings people together. I just love shoving food down people’s throats. It tears people apart, because you better believe I’m getting the last piece of whatever. The process of baking can also be therapeutic for a lot of people, including myself. Until you screw something up and all hell breaks loose. I don’t know, it’s a combo of everything really. I’m not sure I can pinpoint just one thing that’s my favorite. Well actually that’s not true, we already established that eating is my favorite part.

Q: For me, I relate baking to being around family, late night chats with friends, and generally, nostalgia. Does baking give you a similar feeling? This is probably a corny question, but with something like baking, which relies so heavily on the senses, I’m curious!

A: Yes, definitely. There’s something very homey about baking. It reminds me a lot of my mom. She was always in the kitchen, cooking and baking. Now being older, I can really appreciate that. I think I used to take it for granted. But now, I love recreating old childhood recipes and baking with her. There’s a ton of nostalgia there, for sure!

"I would rather have dinner with the two people I love the most (her parents). They’ve shaped me into the person I am today and I can’t think of anyone more deserving of burgers, fries, and chocolate cake."

Q: If you could have dinner with three people, living or dead, who would they be and why? (Also, what would be served at this dinner?)

A: You know what’s funny, my first reaction is to say my parents. Trust me, I know that probably sounds crazy and stupid. But rather than have dinner with some famous person, who would most likely have zero interest in me or my questions, I would rather have dinner with the two people I love the most. They’ve shaped me into the person I am today and I can’t think of anyone more deserving of burgers, fries, and chocolate cake. The last person I would have dinner with is gonna be another cheesy one. Get ready. Jesus. Come on now. I just have too many damn questions. Plus, my parents would FREAK.

Speed Round

Coffee or tea? Coffee.

Scone or biscuit? Scone. No, biscuit. No, scone.

Early bird or night owl? Early bird.

Parks and Recreation or The Office? Damn that’s tough! The Office.

Reading or audiobooks? Reading.

Sweet or savory? Sweet.

Getaway in the woods or the beach? The beach.

This shot is from a recent road trip Amalia took out to Joseph, Oregon, where there's a lot of farmland. "I love that type of landscape and hope to live on a farm one day," Amalia says. "It's just a slower way of life. It reminds me to keep things simple and rustic because that's what brings me most joy in life."

Q: If you could give your past self one piece of advice, what would it be?

A: Don’t sweat the small stuff. You live life once, enjoy it.

Q: What’s your process for coming up with recipes? Lots of trial and error or do you have more of a throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of approach?

A: I used to be super meticulous when it came to recipes and baking, but I think I’m a little more laid back now. Baking is a science so obviously there’s gonna be trial and error involved. But really I just wanna have fun in the kitchen. So nowadays I think I have more of a throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of approach. Add a little of this in there, take a little of that out, see if these flavors work together. In the end, I think it’s important to have a healthy balance of both.

Amalia's Ancho Chile Brownies. Lord. Have. Mercy.

Q: Who’s one baker that inspires you? This can be a famous baker, a family member, even yourself!

A: Erin Patinkin and Agatha Kulaga are two women who inspire me. They partnered together, developed killer ass recipes, quit their jobs and opened up a bakery called Ovenly. What’s really great is that they work with several non-profit organizations when hiring their employees. People who have been incarcerated, people on parole, or those who might have a difficult time finding a job for some reason or another. Their mission is to make an impact on the community around them and I think that’s really awesome! They’re super badass.

Thanks again, Amalia! Who else is both hungry and inspired right now? To snag some of these yummy recipes for yourself, head on over Cake to Crumb. I think you'll be glad you did.

This is a recipe that requires all the ingredients to be in season. From the oddly fitting Levi's shorts to the worn-in Birkenstocks (or Teva's as a substitute), this is a concoction that's best served hot, but is also acceptable cooled down slightly, if you sleep in a little too long. The steps should be pretty straight-forward, but if anything goes awry, feel free to improvise. The beauty of this particular dish is that it tastes different every time, so proceed with confidence, and minimal palm sweat if possible.

Ingredients:

2 black coffees to-go, or an iced latte and a black coffee, feel it out

3 CD's or playlists (Preferably with a variety of old school classics and more modern artists, but nothing too melancholy.)

2 pairs of sunglasses

Chapstick of any kind (Because no one likes kissing a piece of sand paper.)

1 extra stick of deodorant (Depending on the weather, the manner of garment, the wingspan of the hugger, etc.)

$15 at least for cookie dough ice cream and/or clam chowder (You're at the beach, for crying out loud.)

2. Get gas at the Costco on the way out of town, because whoever's driving should get a deal on gas. This could be a bad date, so no one should have to blow their money. If you don't have a Costco on hand, Fred Meyer will be a suitable replacement.

3. Have a conversation in opposition or support of pumping your own gas, make note of the answer, as it may be as informative as reading tea leaves.

4. Start the drive off easy. Play something mellow but agreeable, sophisticated but approachable. Something like Fleetwood Mac "Dreams," or if you're a fan of Carole King, maybe "It's Too Late." Though on second thought, that might send the wrong message. I'll get back to you on that one.

5. Ease into the conversation. Depending on where your date has been sourced, whether that be Tinder, Bumble, work, or a real-life meet cute somewhere, talk about something light but relevant. This isn't an interview, reader, this is a date. It should be fun! Do they have a dog in their profile? Remark on your favorite place to go for a walk. Do they have a photo of themselves making Trader Joe's ravioli in another photo? Remark on your favorite meal to cook. Is there a coworker you mutually dislike? Don't talk about it, that's starting the date off with negativity, and we don't need that on this date. Okay? Okay.

6. As the conversation progresses, and you inch into family talk and goals and such, segue into moodier music. Maybe a touch of Iron & Wine or Sufjan Stevens, but be careful with this spice. It's easy to get heavy-handed, so add a little at a time. It's easier to add more than it is to take away.

7. Don't forget to check on your ears. They may start to get plugged as you climb in elevation. Prevent this by either chewing gum very subtly, or un-popping your jaw every now again. For extra flavor, explain why you're popping your jaw. Much like the gas conversation, this will help to give you the information you need. Are they understanding? Are they judgy? Take note, dear reader.

8. You're almost to the beach. Rejoice! (Either audibly or privately, this is up to you. Again, read the mood of car, feel out the vibe.)

9. Take a moment to un-plaster yourself from the carseat. This is necessary if the seats are leather or pleather, but ignore this particular step if the car has a fabric seat. No one wants a big ole red mark on their booty. Your date should be sneaking a peak for different reasons altogether.

10. If the conversation lulls, don't jump to fill the void. This is tempting for a first date. But don't. Be confident in the silence. Much like umami, a prevalent flavor in many Asian cuisines, silence can add richness. Treat this date like your own personal bowl of ramen. Make it delicious.

11. Hey, guess what? You've arrived at the beach. Be careful when you get out of the car, moving slowly and intentionally without looking like a psycho to your date. A crick in your neck or a tweak in your back will not be helpful for that inevitable sunset stroll on the sand.

12. Take a walk around the town. Try some salt water taffy (if applicable). If there's no taffy to be found, do not panic. This can be remedied with coffee, a scone, and/or ice cream. Breath in, breath out. You've got this.

13. By this point in the day, the sun's going down, the cobblestone is harder to see, and perhaps, it's time to get extra flirty. Maybe take out that chapstick, taking your time to smooth it onto your lips, relishing in the feeling of hydration, and perhaps, your date sneaking a look.

14. Mosey onto the beach, making sure to take off your shoes. Yes, I said it. TAKE THEM OFF. No point in ruining your shoes. Also, no point in feeling extra uncomfortable on this date. It's already rife with awkwardness. Have mercy on yourself.

15. It's about to get risky, steamy or possibly both. Go for that hand-hold. Or rather, he should be going for that hand-hold. But in either case, have your hands casually swinging by your hips. That way, your hand is perfectly accessible, and perfectly primed for hand-holding.

16. A few minutes have gone by, and by this point, hand-holding should have commenced. Has it not? Don't panic, maybe he's not a touchy person. Confirm or deny suspicions of his disinterest or interest in his body language. Become a hotter version of Sherlock Holmes. Crack this case, girl. I'll be your Watson.

17. Be sure to get some chowder before you go. The bread bowl is optional, but the oyster crackers are not. Savor every bite. The grit of the broth, the silky texture, how it instantly transports you to every childhood memory when you've sipped clam chowder with cousins in big tee shirts.

18. Reader, your date should pick up the bill, but if he doesn't, just politely say you forgot your card. Works most of the time, but of course, I am not wishing this situation on you. Please know this. But I'm trusting your judgement on this guy. Trust your gut, as they say.

19. The drive back from the beach will be telling. Turn down the music in the car to a volume where you can hear each other, while still having the ambiance of a perfectly-balanced playlist. Don't play anything too percussive, lest you lose your train of thought mid sentence. This conversation will be able to tell you whether or not another date will be happening. You will crack the case, Sherlock. You're detective skills may even put the real Sherlock to shame. (Nah, I'm just playing, I would never want to put shame on Benedict Cumberbatch, he doesn't deserve that.)

20. You've arrived back at your car or your house, depending on the source of your date, as mentioned in Step 5. You exchange the common pleasantries of "good night" and "I had fun," both trying to figure out where you stand with one another. Maybe go in for the hug, but again, proceed with caution. The hand-holding (or lack there of) in Step 16 will help you figure out what to do.

21. The damn fool should be kissing you by now, preferably outside of the car, but inside of the car will work too. And with that, your date is done, the ingredients have been stirred, and there's nothing left for you to do but sit, reflect, and possibly have a glass of Trader Joe's wine. This could be any price point, from a $2 bottle to a ritzier $8 selection. Treat yourself. Because actually, first dates are the worst.

What's your experience with first dates to the beach? Any steps I left out? Comment below and let me know.

Why do people hold graduations outside? Who does that? Did we all look too pale? I could see that. There was that one guy in my creative writing class who looked like Edward Cullen. This makes sense. But has anyone ever passed out at a graduation? Must remember to look that up later. Oh Lord, boob sweat. Here comes the boob sweat. When will they call my name? Will my row know when to stand up? Oh, that's nice, an engineering major.

I sat under a blistering June sun, waiting for my name to be called. I was about to leave behind a life of mopping floors, waiting tables, and schmoozing guests until the late hours of the evening. I was moving up. Armed with my Liberal Studies degree and a can-do attitude, I was on the verge of becoming my greatest self. Would I be an author with a devoted readership, praised as the next great writer to watch? Or would I be an editor at Bon Appetit, ruling with kindness and badassery, a sort of foodie Meryl-Streep-in-Devil-Wears-Prada-Meets-Meryl-Streep-in-It's-Complicated. Which is to say, I'd be an amazing editor. (And Nancy Myers may or may not write a rom com based on my career rise, best case.) Because that's how that works, right? That's why we all suffer through the endless works cited pages and the hours of studying pointless information about triangles and octagons? We gave four years of our lives in exchange for a life of six figures and tenure. We paid our dues with MLA headings. We did our time.

Soon, my row stood up, ushered to the side of the stage by miscellaneous faculty members. As I subtly aired out my sweat situation, I watched one "C" after the other get called, inching closer to the stage with each name. You probably already guess it, but my own name eventually got called. With cheers in the air from my family below, I walked across the stage, struck by how quickly they handled me my diploma in contrast with how long it took me earn it. But no matter. Soon, this period of life would fade away, replaced by an exciting and monetarily bright future. And maybe a Frenchie. And a graphic designer with nice arms. Nothing too crazy.

"We're so proud of you Maddy," my parents said on the patio that night, as my dad dished up the salmon. I felt their pride. I knew they meant it.

"So, you're heading to grad school next? Off to take on the world?" another family member asked.

"Yeah, that's the plan! I guess we'll see if I get offered the right packages! *cue awkward laughter around the table* That would be my dream," I responded.

And it was. The bit I just told you about being an editor or a writer was absolutely true, but I also loved the idea of inspiring and nurturing a whole new generation of writers. It sounded so... prestigious? Sacred? I wasn't even sure which word described the way it sounded to me, but it sounded fulfilling in any case. Professor Churm. Maybe not the best ring to it, but hey, maybe I wouldn't be a Churm for long? Magical things were said to happen in the adult, post-college world, so maybe my last name would change?

Fast forward 6 months and some change. I've moved in with my 90-year-old grandma Eunice, living in Vancouver, WA, in search of the big kid writing job that doesn't seem to exist. My parents have moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico. I need a place to live, and my grandma needs someone to bring her Panda Express. I've started working at a wine bar at the airport, using my storytelling abilities to talk people into expensive bottles of Pinot Noir over a cheap bottles of moscato. The Meryl version of me is on a hiatus of sorts. I'm picturing her recharging on a pristine beach, with a Mai Tai or mimosa in hand, flirting with the pool attendants but maintaining an er of mystery. As any fabulous, badass woman would on a tropical vacation. But the me of the moment, the me that barely landed the wine bar job, that me feels like a waste of potential. Because if there were three things I was certain of, it were these:

2) This was not what Meryl would be doing. She would be making croissants on a date with Steve Martin and eating late night ice cream with Alec Baldwin. All while slaying at her career. Obviously.

3) I had no clue what was happening with my life.

And that's the head space I lived in for a while.

Fast forward once again, this time, to now. The version of me writing this in real time. The wine is out, a coffee job is in, and a future in freelancing is on the way. I've been in the Portland area for over two years now, and it's shaped me into someone that's not bitter, or jaded, or someone who feels scorned by the world, but someone who has perspective. When I graduated college, I wanted to badly to believe that the rest of my life would be struggle free, and that hard work would always, always, equal success and acclaim. But what I was actually telling myself was something different than that. It was this strange notion that the world somehow owed me something. I'd conformed to the college and a job route, and because of that, I was suddenly bequeathed a life where I needed only to wake up, brew some coffee, and work the bare minimum for maximum results. What? Are you kidding?

I wanted something that I know now to be both impossible and unfulfilling: a life handed to you. A career you don't have to earn. And to be honest, that's not what Meryl would do.

The Meryl of my most beloved movies, the Meryl who is effortlessly fabulous, isn't effortless. Her characters forged their paths, through the fire of an oven or the jungle of a publishing world. So maybe the me that was hustling and trying and failing just a little bit was exactly the Meryl me. That was a version of me I could believe. And better yet, that was was a version of me I could respect. And that means everything.

So as I continue to fall on my face, figure it out, and try again and again, I get to be the actual Meryl me. Maybe closer to the Meryl of Mama Mia, but my butt doesn't look as good as Meryl's does in denim overalls. But I like the idea of singing through the weirdness, embracing the current moment, and realizing that I don't have to have everything together. Just a loose path. Just progress.

But I'd like to leave you, dear reader, with five lessons to learn from Meryl.

1) Walk into a room as if you're a woman to watch. Because you are.

2) You look most beautiful when you're happy. The kind of happy where you look in the mirror and smile at the woman on the inside and outside.

3) When in doubt, sing it out. The bathroom, the car, the street, wherever, sing it loud, sing it proud.

Gals! How the heck are you? The past few weeks have been crazy, as my grandma has been experiencing some health difficulties, but thankfully, she's on the mend. And of course, this means we're back to our regularly scheduled programing here on the blog. So get jazzed!

I'm so excited to be starting off the week chatting about a brand that I truly believe in, and that brand is CaseApp! But first, I just wanted to ask y'all: who else has the hardest time picking out a phone case? For those of us iPhone babes, it can almost feel like sacrilege to cover the beautiful tones of our sleek phones. I love the rose gold color of my iPhone 8 Plus, and because of that, I held off on purchasing a case for way too long. In the months that followed, my iPhone survived, but not without a few battle scars (we've all been there).

So when CaseApp reached out to me about a collaboration, I was already intrigued. But unlike other laptop and phone case shops, CaseApp gives you the freedom to customize your case. So I did what any rational millennial-with-way-too-many-flower-photos would do: I created my own iPhone case, of course! When it arrived less than a week later, I was so delighted. The quality of the photo I had chosen was amazing, and the matte finish looked absolutely gorgeous. And on top of that, it puts a little pep in my step to know that my phone case, the one that everyone can see, is a photo I took, and a case that's completely original to me.

This is to say, if you're in the market for a new laptop skin or a customized iPhone case, head on over to their site! My readers can use code: MADDY20 for 20% off of their entire purchase now through June 8th.

I could pretend this was one, isolated event, but this actually happened every time my mom would pull out the Nikon when I was growing up. Whether I was performing with my high school jazz choir, donning black, dramatic gloves, or I was on a road trip to California, wearing tragically-fitting Bermuda shorts (y'all know the ones), my mom would always use that hateful zoom feature on her camera. Over time, I memorized the motion the lens would make, bracing myself for impact. It was terrifying.

And it's not that I thought I was ugly or that I had no self worth. That wasn't necessarily the problem. I simply thought that close-up photos were reserved for certain super humans, the kind like these:

I've grown up knowing that my personality was my "selling factor," but I didn't realize how deeply I believed that until I realized I'd created my own personal demon: the zoom feature. When I look in the mirror, what I see peering back at me is, well, complex. My face is marked by laughter lines from late nights with dear friends. It's adorned with spots of acne scarring that never quite disappeared. My jawline is, in fact, a bread knife at best, but more like a spoon. My cheekbones are present, but not the glowing pieces of architecture that some people possess. As a Jane Austen character might say, my face is plain.

Or at least it would be, if it wasn't a part of me.

It can be scarily easy to separate someone's appearance from their soul. We watch romantic comedies starring actors who play characters that seem to have it all: whit, charm, looks, and a tight ass. They are sexy. They are attractive. They are flawless.

But in actuality: they're not real. (If they're Jennifer Lopez, they might actually be super human. But I'll get back to you on that.) What I know to be true is this: as time goes on, your skin gets peeled back. What people begin to see is the tone of your heart. The contents of your brain. The passions that keep your eyes lit up. I've met people who appear gorgeous, but once the layers are torn back, the flawed and messy parts come to light, and you see who they truly are: human.

So although I don't look at my face and see a model, or even a cousin of a model, I see me. I see the flaws right beside the beauty. I see the parts of myself that I'm proud of. I see the parts that might not be perfect, but they're unique to who I am, in this time and this place. And there's something amazing about that, don't you think?

I've come to an agreement with the zoom feature. We've made an arrangement. As long as I'm keeping who I am in check, managing the back of house operations to the best of my abilities, the zoom feature can go to town. Because the best close up is of someone who knows they're imperfect, but still loves who they are. They know that their imperfections aren't a cause for shame or embarrassment. They're a cause for celebration, and for grace.

I remember my first day of high school. Well, sort of. In a headspace that can only be described as a-hopeful-and-calm-but-anxious-ball-of-nerves, I was dropped off at the front of Summit High School. We slowly pulled up as the cars in front of us inched forward, getting ever closer to the next 4 years of my life (I was a little dramatic back then). I'm sure my mom said something along the lines of "have a great day" or "it'll be great", but I probably didn't hear it. This was high school. This was the big leagues. I could be anyone I wanted. Like a snake shedding it's skin, I too could shed the identity I'd cultivated over the last 3 years in middle school. And on that morning, stepping out of our burgundy Land Cruiser, I breathed in the frosty air. This would be my time.

The rest of the day went on rather unceremoniously. Between going over syllabi and getting lost looking for classes, the day passed without event. The halls were full of people of every stature, shape, aroma and pace. The senior guys looked like Vikings compared to the short shrimp of the freshman class, walking by with a distinct swagger that comes from a mix of good genes, good jeans, and popularity. Even if the rest of high school is a bust, at least the eye candy isn't bad, I thought to myself.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and life went on as it does for all of us: with an equal measure of victory and failure. With best friend honeymoons and divorces. With less-than-impressive choir concerts and dreaming of the people we'd become after we left the halls of Summit for good. But I had been right about one thing that first day of freshman year: I did reinvent myself, but not always for the better. Like a werewolf, unable to control their transformations, I would transform into every manner of person depending on who I was with. For a few months, I'd wear lots of Paul Frank and jeans that really didn't fit me. The next year, I had an edgy attitude, fueled by what I thought was moody music (I'm looking at you, 30 Seconds to Mars), wearing tight American Apparel clothes that could've malfunctioned at any given moment. But towards the end of my time in high school, I started to figure out what version of myself I wanted to be. Not the version that went well with this friend or that. What I started to uncover was both groundbreaking and simple.

My identity had nothing to do with the people I was trying to impress.

Stripped of the clothes that allowed me to play dress up, stripped of the gossip that would be discussed about someone unknowingly, and stripped of the social dynamics of often turbulent friendships, I realized something. I realized that the woman I saw in the mirror and the woman I wanted to be weren't the same person, and that was entirely on me. I could be whoever I wanted, so why wasn't I? What did I want to be known for? If my name came up in someone else's conversation, what would they say about me? That I was kind? That I was flighty? It's not the thought of gossip that scared me, it was the thought of people's gossip revolving around truth. What legacy did I want to have?

Since then, I've continued to become different versions of myself. Some of those versions have brought me joy and amazing friendships, and some have brought me trials and lessons, but somewhere along the way, I've become what I think might just be very close to the woman I want to be. That doesn't mean that I don't mess up, because believe me, I certainly do mess up. But when I look in the mirror, I'm proud of what I see. And even better, I'm proud of who I see. Because that version of Maddy is exactly who she's supposed to be right now: flawed, but beautiful.

For the record, I was never the cool kid in school. I would say I was a solid middle class, mostly thanks to my strange sense of humor and my stellar contribution in group project. But what I wish I could say to high school me is something I think Dr. Seuss puts better than I ever could:

"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There's no one alive your is Youer than You."

Dr. Seuss

Being yourself and being proud of who you are makes you the cool kid. And in my humble opinion, there're few things more lovely in this world than people who know who they are and are overjoyed to be who they are. Because the best version of you, is, well, you! Trust me. It's truer than true.

Hey gals. How's your week been going? I've been trying to get this photo diary ready for you all for the past few weeks. Whether it was perfectionism or procrastination, who can say, but I'm so excited with how it turned out. My hope is that you get a delicious taste of Scotland, because MY GOODNESS, Scotland is a beauty. The majority of these photos were taken in Edinburgh, Scotland, and a few snaps from our jaunt into the Scottish highlands.

Just like the London photo diary was, the the majority of this post is photo-driven, so get ready to scroll, explore and enjoy. Thanks again. (Spoiler alert: Sam Heughan sightings are not included.)

Why do backyards look so much more regal in Scotland?

Can I get an amen? This was the view from our apartment in Edinburgh. Every morning as the sun would rise, the colors on the buildings would shift from cooler tones to warm and inviting oranges and browns on the bricks. It was one of my very favorite things to witness on our visit to Scotland.

Quite possibly my favorite photo bomb ever.

While we were in Edinburgh, we got to meet up with our Scottish friends Kathryn and Rachael, two of the most joyful gals you may ever meet. We ate and laughed and is there anything better than those two things?

More cake, always.

We found one of the cutest cake shops I've ever visited, Lovecrumbs, in downtown Edinburgh. The chocolate coconut cake was insanely delicious, and the space was warm and inviting.

Old and New

One of my favorite things about exploring Edinburgh was this amazing mix of historical buildings, castles, and cobblestone alongside buses and Starbucks. This is to say, without the reminders of the time period, from cell phones and modern devices, I'd think I was wandering through another time.

Okay, Scotland, now you're just showing off.

There's one thing you should know about Edinburgh: at any given point in the city, you can see a magnificent, ancient castle on a hill. That castle is Edinburgh Castle. Every corner of the cobblestone grounds felt like a living fragment of history, and being a history nerd, I was in heaven exploring this castle.

Day trip out to the Scottish Highlands.

As with any self-respecting Churm vacation, we took multiple bus tours. And the adventure out to the Scottish highlands was no exception to this. Riding in a bus listening to countless stories about the real William Wallace (our tour guide got very passionate about this) and the history of multiple Scottish clans, we saw some breathtaking scenery that'll be pretty hard to forget.

"Jamie, are you there?"

Any Outlander fans reading this? Well, welcome to Doune Castle, the location where part of season 1 of Outlander was filmed. It also has a vast, real history of it's own if you ever want to do a little research. Thanks to a very entertaining self-guided audio tour, we were able to walk around to the various rooms and corners of the castle and learn about what life was like for those who lived here during Doune Castle's height. I loved it!

Loch Lomond

You might've already guessed it, but I was a choir kid when I was growing up. One of the songs I sang in the various choirs I was in was inspired by this very lake, or loch, as they would say in Scotland. Suffice it to say, it was surreal to go to the actual spot that inspired the iconic song I sang in WAY too many different arrangements. But I actually get it. This lake is spectacular.

And that's it from us! I'm so thankful I got to explore such a magnificent spot with such magnificent people: my family!

Have you been to Scotland? Did I miss any spots? Let me know in the comments. And as always, thanks for reading.

The kettle is warming up, and I slip on my black fur slippers, the kind you wouldn't dare wear to the grocery store. The kettle screeches from the kitchen. I grab a dark chocolate peanut butter cup for good luck. Some chocolate is good for you, right? I situate the pillow on my bed, placing it just so. I turn on two lamps for ambiance, maybe light a candle, and tidy the room a little. And after positioning the my tea on the tray atop my bed, I settle in to write, internally chanting to myself, 'I can do this, I can do this, I can do this...'

And if I'm being 100% honest, I don't always "do this."

I've had an idea for a creative nonfiction book brewing in my head for the past year, but for the past year, I've put it to the side. Whether it's because of a lack of time or a lack of focus, I can't say. The vision I have for this book keeps creeping up on me in the small hours of the night, when I'm about to turn my lamp off, or when I'm brushing my teeth, nagging at me, like a plant that I keep forgetting to water, with it's leaves turning shades of brown and yellow. So why do I keep pushing it to the side?

About two years ago, I read Elizabeth Gilbert's incredible book, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. In this book, she bravely speaks about what most artists don't want to admit, talking about everything from fear to follow through to simply showing up, even when you don't feel "inspired." The whole book is quote-worthy, but there was one idea that stuck with me long after I read the last page: creativity is a choice.

What? Let me repeat that: creativity is a choice.

I can't speak to everyone's experience with this, but for most of my life, creativity has been linked with talent, and even more daunting, inspiration. Who else gets intimidated by inspiration? It stresses me out, big time. It seems to be like a muse that visits you one day and leaves you the next, without a clear list of instructions on how to carry out the mission: the poem it's whispered you to write, the painting it's commissioned you to paint, the song it's hired you to compose. Inspiration, or at least our interpretation of it, can be more of a pain than a blessing, but why is that?

I'm a Liberal Studies major, which means that along with having a pointless degree, I also have an ongoing love affair with words. And I feel like understanding inspiration, what it actually means, should trace back to it's definition. Here's what Miriam Webster has to say about it:

in·spi·ra·tion

ˌinspəˈrāSH(ə)n/

noun

1.

the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

The first definition is one that I think we're all familiar with, but the second one, that's the curveball.

The drawing in of breath; inhalation.

Is it just me or does that definition make you giddy? What I interpret this phrase as is that inspiration is everywhere. It's not reserved for that successful photographer or badass travel maven. It's for you too, the same portion, the same quality, the same frequency. It's yours! So what does that have to do with creativity? Well, dear reader, it has everything to do with creativity. And everything to do with what Elizabeth Gilbert wisely said in Big Magic. Take a look-see below.

“So this, I believe, is the central question upon which all creative living hinges: Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you?”

-Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic

I feel like I blame a lack of inspiration or dull ideas when I have weeks or months when I'm not creating. The truth, the truth that none of us is normally comfortable confronting, is that creativity takes courage. It takes vulnerability, and walking into a mist where you don't know the outcome. Will people respond to what you create? Will they hate it? Will you hate it? Fight as we will, the creativity in us wants to be set free. Even the dull ideas, or the ones we don't think will ever work. They want to be seen. They want to be heard.

I'll admit that my reasoning for not starting my book is this gnawing sense of self doubt. I know I am a person of value in a lot of ways, but sometimes I can't shake this feeling that the dreams or aspirations I have are reserved for someone else, as if I'm stealing out of another person's storybook. There's no reason for me to think that way, but I still do. And I might have those thoughts for the rest of my life.

But excuses can only have power if you allow them to. By giving into the fear of failure that I have with this book, I'm doing myself the disservice of ever being able to try in the first place. Without risk, there's no possibility for failure or for success. And I write that not to be preachy, but to be encouraging, to both you and myself. I need a push more than I don't, trust me.

So if you've been feeling like you're in a funk, know that it's okay to be in a funk, but don't let it stop you. Create, even when it's hard or it isn't pretty or it isn't even good. It's a part of the process. And although it's not a very fun process at times, it's necessary, and always, always worth it.

Is there an idea that's been fighting for yourattention lately? I would recommend inviting it to tea, possibly having a chat. You never know what may be starting.

Hey gals! How's your week going so far? It's actually my Friday today (that barista life), but I know that for most of you it's just about mid week. And in the spirit of spring and refreshment and everything becoming new once again, I thought I'd put together a list of a few of my favorite things at the moment to bring you a little joy and possibly a few laughs. Let's do this.

- I'm already daydreaming about spring dresses! I'm loving the look of dresses like this and this.

- I've recently come across this fantastic artist. Her name is Oana Befort and her work is out of a dream. I'm obsessed.

- Where are my fellow newbie plant moms at? I've recently started listening to this podcast, and I'm optimistic that it'll help me up my houseplant game. Or at least help me keep my plants alive, I'll take that too.

- Is anyone else getting a touch of wanderlust recently? I've been itching to vacation somewhere tropical and lush. Did your next travel spot make it on this list?

- This audition from The Voice gave me all the feels and plenty of feels. And by feels, I mean I get choked up during almost every episode.

- Speaking of rad covers, if you haven't heard this cover of Tove Lo's "Talking Body," go do your ears a favor and give it a listen.

- I'm ALL about a good Trader Joe's dinner, and this one looks both amazing and easy (my favorite cooking combo)!

There are too many things I could say about Sarah, but I'll try and stick to the facts. She lives in the Pacific Northwest (Seattle to be exact) with her hubby and their two little gals. She's an incredible watercolor artist, yes, but she's also one of the most genuine and encouraging souls I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. Although we haven't met in real life quite yet, she feels like a friend I've known my whole life. For Sarah, what started as a hobby has now turned into a thriving business, and she even teaches watercolor workshops, both in person and online. So you could say she's essentially Superwoman (I won't tell Gal Gadot if you don't). Okay, so I didn't just stick to the facts, but when you read all the beautiful things Sarah wrote about being an artist and pushing through obstacles, I think you'll feel the same way. So let's jump in! I hope you have your wine or your tea or your cocoa ready, this is a good one.

Sarah in her garden!

Q: I would love to start off by hearing a little bit about your journey with art. When did you first start drawing?

Sarah: I am self-taught, although looking back I can see the path shaping me towards art and illustration, and the many people who helped me along the way. I really feel incredibly blessed that this is the medium I’ve been given to get to express myself in this world. I have always, always loved to create. When I was doing other jobs, or pursuing other interests, I would see people painting or drawing, I would always feel that tug at my heart, and I would think “gosh I WANT to be doing THAT.” I didn’t want to say it out loud, but inside I always wanted to pursue illustration and painting. My painting journey began about ten years ago when I broke my foot, and sprained my ankle (that's another story)…so painting finally worked it's way into my life. After I became a wife, and a mama, Time wasn’t slowing down – only speeding up. Something finally clicked inside of me, and I realized that if I ached to paint, I needed to paint.

Q: So was there a “turning point,” if you will, when you started to think about making your art into a career?

Sarah: Almost four years ago, I started to share simple posts on Instagram of my small works of art and our garden. Instagram was my way to tap into the vibrant, outside world, where my identity was unknown and could be shaped into whatever I liked. I wasn't anyone's wife or Mom. I was Sarah, the Artist, 'TheMintGardener.' An art hobby isn't exactly inexpensive, so I thought, "I'll open a little Etsy shop, and when I sell a piece of art, I'll have enough left over so I can buy more supplies – so I can keep creating!"

Since then, I have discovered that the painting process, and the pictures of my process that I share with the world, are an incredible way to connect. I have developed a sincere love of connecting women, and my community, over paint. It's such a treat to paint every day. I try new things. When my girls nap, I savor my painting time. I turn my phone and computer off. I step over laundry piles and I ignore dirty dishes. There will always be tasks to consume your hours, but they can wait. I am filled with a sense of accomplishment when I create. And I am usually so absorbed in the process that I have to remind myself to get up and eat or go to the bathroom. I love the peace I feel when I can create and reconnect with myself. It's my time of communion and meditation.

Click on the right side of the photo to see more of Sarah and her family in their yard!

Q: Did you have to face any fears when deciding what direction to take your art in? Did you feel any sense of risk in making your art public?

Sarah: As Creatives, we relish in the joy of Making, but many of us have a common problem: the challenge of sitting down and to actually start. I was terrified to post and share my art with the world, but there is more Fear for me in the actual creation process.

In his book "The War of Art," Steven Pressfield says it like this: “Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us.” That effort of gathering the right supplies, carving out time in our day, and beginning the creative process is where many of us falter. We want to soar, and feel that freedom of the creative life we know is inside of us, but we talk or dream about it more than we actually sit down to do it. There are different reasons for everyone: not enough time, the ‘Creative Muse’ isn’t showing up, feeling discouraged.

For me, the main reason I didn’t paint for so many years was because of Fear.

For many of us, Fear is not a stranger. Dealing with the voices of fear and self-doubt when they come up is a real struggle. Fear immobilizes you and tempts you to give up. I struggled as an unproductive artist for many years. I wanted to paint, but the sheer act of pulling out all of the materials and taking the time required to create all felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford, in time and effort. The process became my excuse every time. But the underlying lurking Big Fear, which was the REAL challenge, was there whispering all along: What could I say or contribute as an Artist that hadn’t already been said or done? If I did manage to create something, how would I be unique from all of the other voices? And would I be any good – and good for whom? Would it be satisfying to be 'good enough for me' and to just enjoy the process of creating, regardless of what I made?

After years of listening to that demoralizing voice of self-doubt, I’ve come to see that to giving into that Fear is not to live a full life. When I do not paint, I live a half-life, with a bitter burning in my chest dreaming of what I could be doing.

"Fear prevents us from achieving the life God intended when He endowed each of us our unique genius. Genius is a Latin word; the Romans used it to denote an inner spirit, holy and inviolable, which watches over us, guiding us to our calling. A writer writes with his genius; an artist paints with hers. Everyone who creates operates from this sacramental center. It is our soul’s seat, the vessel that holds our being-in-potential, our status beacon and Polaris.” (another quote from "The War of Art," Steven Pressfield)

So – how to move past this Fear?

“If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.”

How encouraging is it to hear that the person who said that was none other than Vincent Van Gogh?

Something I’ve learned, and it sounds like Van Gogh is also saying: when we fight Fear, we win. And we fight by starting. Sitting down, and starting.

We must Create to be happy.

We were meant to pursue Passion.

Also, as I’ve pushed back against that fear by embracing the challenge and sitting down with a paintbrush, I’ve learned something another invaluable lesson. We create in cycles. If Fear wins one day, try to paint again the next day. Some days are good, some days are bad. Do something to help break the slump in creativity; exercise, garden, speak to an encouraging friend that believes in you and your talent. Listen to that urge inside to try again. Reference styles you like, but let your own personality come through in the lines and strokes. Make a few lists of things you love, outside of art. See if you can combine those interests with your art (i.e., I love gardening, so I’ve combined that with my art). Try new colors, new combinations. Take local classes, ask questions, try new mediums. Just keep showing up, and try, try again. Practice makes better. I also read books to break up my self-doubt and fear. One of my favorites is “The War of Art” by Steven Pressfield (I've mentioned it a few times ;) ). The author takes apart the creative cycle in small, one-page chapters, and helps you identify what’s holding you back. And once you can see the cycle, and the obstacles, it doesn’t feel as intimidating. When you’ve rested and you try again, you’re better and stronger than you were before.

"After years of listening to that demoralizing voice of self-doubt, I’ve come to see that to giving into that Fear is not to live a full life. When I do not paint, I live a half-life, with a bitter burning in my chest dreaming of what I could be doing."

Q: What’s been the most rewarding thing you’ve experienced from sharing your art with the world and creating a business from it?

A: Because of Instagram, and sharing my art with the community, I have the privilege of teaching regular watercolor classes around the Seattle area (and NOW – online! To get on the waitlist for the next session, click here).

The majority of people who take my classes are women: mothers, young professionals, grandmothers. Women in different life stages and circumstances. But as I sit with them, face-to-face, showing them the shape of a humpback whale or the perfect amount of water to include on their brush, it's the same story I hear again and again; our nature as women is nurturing, giving, self-sacrificial. We throw ourselves into the lives and needs of everyone around us and then feel guilty if we are still a little unfulfilled afterwards.

Brené Brown shares this thought, which has become so valuable to my work:

"In life, there is the in-breath and there is the out-breath, and it's easy to believe that we must exhale all the time, without ever inhaling. But the inhale is absolutely essential if you want to continue to exhale."

Painting is my Inhale, so I can continue to exhale throughout my day. So many of the women who attend my classes have no Inhale in their lives. They spend all of their minutes Exhaling for others - no wonder they feel empty.

We need to spend some time on ourselves. To do what recharges us, gives us life and makes us feel peaceful. That out-breath in our lives is required, and we do it better when we’ve given ourselves time for the in-breath.

The ones that take the leap, they begin to see that creating is a way to reconnect with themselves. My joy comes in seeing their faces light up and exclaim, 'Yes! I see how you did that!...I can do that!' I love that the focus and concentration spent on the process of painting is so calming. They get to see the joy in a new craft, and discover the calming and fulfilling effect of dipping a brush in paint and water to create. And then they go home, and make the process a part of their lives. I love making beautiful art approachable. I love watching people who have never picked up a paintbrush begin to understand how to use it, and go home and create amazing things on their own. I believe taking the time to create art gives back tenfold, empowers and ignites a flame to keep going and seeking the beauty in simplicity.

Q: Which are your favorite plants to paint and why?

Sarah: Leaves. Any type of leaf of any species of plant. There is so much nuance of movement and detail within each plant. I feel like leaf shapes are the plant's unique fingerprint, and the shapes in which they grow are sometimes fluid, other times awkward. I love observing them and studying their movement, and then trying to translate them to paper.

Q: Have you always had a love for botanicals?

Sarah: I have always loved botanicals. Larger than life floral patterns, lush and deep green jungles, the delicate and faithful house plant. I actually have a Christmas Cactus that was given to me as a present when my younger siblings arrived in 1991. She was from a local grocery store, and given as a small token then, but I took her survival to heart. She's been with me for 26 years now, through countless moves and re-potting adventures. And every year that she blooms around Halloween (she never did realize she was a Christmas Cactus) I smile and remember how much joy she brings.

Q: Botanicals are the main subjects of your current work, of course, but are there other subjects that equally inspire you?

Sarah: There are so many people and so many things all around me which inspire me on a daily basis. We pick up little tidbits of wisdom in books we read, conversations with good friends; we get flashes of an incredibly shaped image, see something familiar, but at a new and different angle. Sometimes it's the way the sunlight hits a flower petal just right, or I am inspired to pick up my pencil right then, because I notice the way an ocean wave resembles a snowy mountain peak. It’s hard to identify one mode of inspiration that triggers that ‘must create now’ button inside of me. Since the beauty in nature is fleeting, there’s a quality about it that demands to be drawn. I often snap pictures of plants I pass by, because I know that even if I come back five minutes later, it could be different. That urgency inspires me to capture it in its beauty that is here today, gone tomorrow.

Q: On the topic of inspiration, are there any artists from the past or present that have influenced your work?

Sarah: John Singer Sargent, Van Gogh, Monet, Rembrandt, Gustav Klimt. These are some of my favorites from the past.

Q: Do you think living in the Pacific Northwest has influenced your work in any way?

Sarah: I have lived here the majority of my life, so the amazing greens of ferns and pines, as well as ability to have a rich and diverse seasonal garden, have influenced how I see the world. When I travel, I am innately drawn to the region's surrounding flora – so perhaps it's just something inside of me that looks for little green living things wherever I go. I also think that because folks in the PNW hibernate from about mid-November until mid-March, I have lots of months to cozy up with a milky tea and value pursuits that keep me busy inside. I love to read, and I love to draw. Those are both excellent rainy day activities.

"I have developed a sincere love of connecting women, and my community, over paint."

Speed Round

Road trip or airplane? Road Trip

Ice cream or cake? Cake (it's all about the frosting for me)

Movie night in or a night at the movies? Movie night in (so I can wear my jammies!)

Q: If you could give an aspiring artist any word of advice, what would it be?

Sarah: Show up. Fight the Fear. Find your Voice :)

Thanks again, Sarah! It was such a treat. You can follow along with Sarah on Instagram, purchase one of her beautiful pieces on her Etsy shop, or give her website a visit. Or all of the above to make sure you're updated on all the exciting Mint Gardener happenings!

"You'll have this scar forever," the surgeon confessed. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Sitting in the consultation office, I pondered. Wasthis what I wanted? My eyes scanned the outdated room, searching for any helpful motivational posters or inspirational quotes to help me decide. Alas, no luck. My eyes returned to the surgeon.

"That's fine," I replied, resigning myself to the mark that I would have on my body for the foreseeable future.

But before you jump to conclusions, let me explain.

I have a scar on my right leg. It's no more than an inch or so, but nevertheless, it's a scar. It's located on a part of my leg that doesn't get shown often, but when it does, my automatic reaction is to hide it. It's brown, a little swelled, but overall, it looks like a botched stitch job (which is exactly what it is). About 4 years ago, a benign cyst showed up on my leg. And even though it was harmless, it bothered me to have it on my body. It was mysterious and wholly unwelcome. So when I had it removed, I wasn't expecting to have a souvenir of it on me forever, in the form of a scar.

This is only one of the unexpected marks on my body. There's a birthmark near my stomach, stretch marks hugging all my curves, and even an indent by my upper left brow from a childhood mishap that resulted from me and a slamming door (the cost of growing up around three rambunctious siblings). But in recent years, I've come to think about these scars in a different way. Because from what I can tell, they should more accurately be labelled stories.

I don't know where the word "scar" became so perverted. Do you? I fail to believe it's always been this way. When did we each start to believe that the imperfections and marks on our bodies were somehow linked with shame? Do they point back to times in our lives we'd rather forget? Or worse, do they signify the inadequacies we currently possess?

What makes a scar different than a tattoo? As millennials, many of us (myself included) lust after beautiful tattoos from artists who are impossible to book with. We dream of body art that will make us look like the most complete version of ourselves, bringing what's on the inside of our souls to the outside, through stunning artwork that's etched into our skin forever. If you're anything like me, there isn't a price point that's too high, because the ending result is simply exquisite. And oftentimes, whatever image it is has meaning to us. It's a part of our story.

See where I'm going with this?

You'll hear me say it today, tomorrow, and all the days to come: what makes you different, those scars both external and internal, make you exquisite. Because each scar symbolizes a story. They're stories from the battles you've won and the battles you've lost, and the journey you've courageously set forth on to become the person you are right now. There is no other route you could've taken that would've produced the radiant human you are today. The one that cares too much, the one that sleeps in a little too late, the one that closes their eyes when they take a sip of truly delicious coffee.

So I have a challenge for you. Next time you look in the mirror, try to admire those parts of your body you'd usually curse. Look on your own scars with kindness. Like it or not, they're a part of you. And if you learn to like them, you may even learn to love them. Surprise yourself, it might just be worth it.

Happy Wednesday babes! How's your week going? Daylight savings is trying to knock down my productivity, but I think for the most part coffee and power of will are helping me motor through.

I took a trip to the UK about two months ago. It was a spur-of-the-moment-you-only-live-once-why-not sort of trip, which is to say: it was a whirlwind. I was fortunate enough to be able to visit both London AND Scotland on this particular trip, but I'm going to dedicate different posts to each place, so the Scotland photo diary will be following in a week or so.

You gals know I am a woman of many words, but I feel that in the case of London, photos do this majestic place more justice than I could ever attempt. I've never been to a place with so much history and beauty and pride as London has. The pace, the buildings, the food, the people, everything is a treat for the senses. So brew yourself a cuppa, settle in, and enjoy a stroll through London, no umbrella or rain boots required.

The Tower Bridge.

Located just a few paces from the Tower of London (yes, the Tower of London), this bridge is striking. With vivid blues and intricate details throughout, the hype is deserved. On the day we went, it was glowing in the winter sun, and I say that to emphasize: it was not warm. However, the walk across and over on the way to the Borough Market was something I wouldn't've wanted to miss.

Off to the Borough Market we go!

Click on the right side of the photo to see more shots from the market. (Caution: the following images can create extreme hunger. You have been warned.)

Flowers, produce, and food, oh my.

As you can probably tell by now, the Borough Market was one of my favorite visits while we were in London. All of the colors and aromas were amazing, and every item that was sold in there, from the breads to the cheeses, were extremely high quality and local. Let's just say this: my bank account is very glad I don't live in London, because wow, I wanted to buy everything.

Much-needed caffeine break at Monmouth Coffee.

Rainy days in London? Yes please.

We had a mixed bag of weather during our stay in London, but by far, my favorite weather was when it was cloudy with a touch of rain. The sunshine made all the old buildings sparkle, but the rain felt even more cozy to me. I can picture Londoners from a century ago walking on these same streets (albeit with less paint and a lot more cobblestone)!

Bill's Restaurant, one of my favorite breakfast spots in London. And just look at this room, holy moly.

When in doubt, go to a flea market.

Does it look like we went to a lot of markets? Because we did. We went to quite a few. And ate our way through each one! From tee shirts to books to boba tea, these indoor markets were full of amazing goods and aromas.

London Eye and Friends.

On our last day in London, we walked along this historic river and saw the London Eye, Parliament, and Westminster Abbey, because how could we not? I looked out for Sherlock, but no luck.

Inside Westminster Abbey.

Trafalgar Square.

And that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed galavanting through London with me. Have you been to London? What are your favorite spots? Let me know in the comments below, and as always, thank for reading!

Her head was full of dreams, her closet was full of jelly sandals, and her feet were full of rhythm every time ABBA came on in the kitchen, especially during "Dancing Queen."

With a wild spirit and a kind heart, she began to learn things about the world, things that were beautiful, and things that were sometimes ugly.

She learned that when the sun rose, it would glow, sometimes pink and sometimes orange. She learned that scrunchies were both functional and fashionable, and that Uncle Jesse had way more swagger than her own uncle, which was perfectly fine with her.

She learned that people can be fearful of what they don't understand. That sometimes, when people encounter something new or peculiar, they wouldn't celebrate it. A lot of times, they'd act like something, or someone, was wrong for being different. She could never quite understand why.

And with each year that passed, this girl grew. She changed her taste in shoes, from light-up pink Sketchers to beat-up red Converse, hoping each pair of shoes would help her step closer to discovering who she wanted to be.

Seasons passed, friends came and went, and somewhere in the middle of the chaos, she started to figure out the woman she wanted to be, not who the world wanted her to be. Because from what she could gather, the world wanted her to be a little more skinny, a little less witty, and a little more miserable with everything she wasn't, everything that she needed to be, according to the world.

Like working through a 1000 piece puzzle, she slowly began to put parts together, trying combos here, reforming them there, making good choices along with the bad. Some of those choices even threatened to knock her whole puzzle off the table, but through grace and through redemption, she was able to continue putting the pieces together, doing the best she could to become the person she wanted to be.

She's gotten a bit wiser and a bit more fond of comfortable shoes, sure, but as far as she can tell, she'll be figuring out that puzzle for a while.

And that's okay.

I feel like there's this strange pressure that comes from growing up. It's as if once you're an adult, you have to be visited by a stork, who drops down your dream and your purpose in a linen knapsack, neatly on the front porch. There's no acknowledgement of the process. There's no conversation about the journey. And i think that's wildly inaccurate, and damaging. From what I've experience so far, this is something we constantly rediscover. There's not one succinct destination we land on. That's not real life.

So if you're reading this, feeling lost or confused, or even fearful of the future, it's okay. There's nothing wrong with being "in progress." Don't let anyone tell you differently.

And if you haven't heard this in a while, allow me to tell you:

You are capable. You have purpose. You are beautiful.

There's a reason pop culture and music romanticizes the idea of dying young. It's the growing older that takes guts. The figuring out. The messy mix of pleasure and pain, and the space in between.

So if you're fighting a battle no one can see, or chasing a dream that seems impossible, keep going. You're courageous. Let the little girl in me tell the little girl in you: you can do this. You really can.

"If you could grow up anywhere, where would you grow up?" he asked from across the table.

I sat. Contemplating. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. What would I say to that? What does anyone say to that?

After a few beats, I came up with some makeshift answer. Maybe I said Maine, because it always seems calm, or maybe I said Michigan, I can't recall. What I can recall was the distinct feeling that the short Romeo across from me was not, in fact, my future bae.

The coffee shop, Albina Press (aptly located next to Blandena Ave), closed about an hour after we met up. This was the part in any Tinder date where you either continue to another spot, possibly a bar, or maybe a dessert place, you have to read the mood. But tonight, the rain poured down. We heard the click of the door locking behind us, and I realized I had zero interest in continuing the date. Or whatever it was.

And it's not that this guy (Marshall, I think) was particularly awful. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that there was no magic. And before you roll your eyes, let me explain. Marshall, with his red bomber, Nikes, and khakis, could have easily been attractive to me. I mean, he was attractive enough to get me to come on this awkward coffee date. And although I can't definitively say if it was the weather, or the coffee or even the person in front of me, it was weird. As with most Tinder dates, this too felt more like an unsuccessful interview than anything out of a love story.

"Should we go somewhere else? I think there's a bar up the street..." he trailed off.

"Umm, I'm driving tonight so I can't drink anything," I uncomfortably replied. Why did it have to be raining? We could just walk around if this damn rain would just let up...

"We could just drink water..."

This was getting worse.

I don't even know what I said to end the evening, but I ended it. We said we'd reschedule, but we never did.

Not all of my Tinder experiences have been bad. The majority have, but not all. The thing I can't shake, the thing that keeps me coming back inexplicably is this idea of possibility. What if I delete my Tinder today, and the love of my life downloads his account tomorrow, and starts dating some girl with good legs and a bad temper that throws his heart in the blender (hopefully emotionally, this isn't Sweeney Todd), and creates this avalanche of emotional baggage that I have to help him unpack later? Who has the time for that? (Answer: ain't nobody got time for that.)

Nevertheless, I've used Tinder for a few years now. My experiences have been varied. I've encountered every type of guy. Here's a little sampler:

1) The guy who opens the door for you. He also says, "right" after everything you say. He might be wearing cowboy boots, even though he's a bio major. But it's all about the mystery. Obviously.

2) The guy who gets 4 PBR's and a burger and then says, "So, do you want to split the bill?" And subsequently, that's the last time you ever agree to meet up with Guy #2.

3) The guy that says he's unemployed because, he just "needed a break from it all." Valid, bro, but also, are you paying for the bill tonight? Are you paying for your own bills? Cue concern. And your Uber.

It might not sound like it in this post, but I'm a romantic. I've become a bit more cynical about it with every bad date I've been on, but I think I'll always be a romantic. Raised on a healthy diet of Jane Austen and rom coms (usually starring J Lo, Kate Hudson, or Sandra Bullock), I've grown up keeping my eyes open to love everywhere I go. The grocery store. The gas station. The Thai restaurant with my favorite yellow curry. Hell, even Costco. Much like that GIF of Kim Kardashian sneaking around the bushes, I'm always on the lookout for love. A real life meet-cute would be preferable, of course, but the idea of online shopping for your future boyfriend? It draws me back. What is it about this crazy, peculiar app?

I started this blog post thinking I'd be able to tell you. I'd be able to lay out exactly what it is about online dating that makes people keep searching, even when they've been cat-fished (thankfully, not me) or at the very least, disappointed. The truth is, I don't actually know. And I may never actually know. If there's one thing I want to say to you, though, it's this: it's okay to be searching. I'm happy being a single gal, pursuing my dreams. I don't need a guy to tell me I'm beautiful in order to feel beautiful. That's just silly. But looking for your person is also okay. It's not desperate. It's not "lame." It's actually pretty rad. Because unlike the saying that used to be VERY hip (cue eye roll) "Don't Give A F***", guess what? Giving a f*** means you care. It means that you're living your life with passion instead of going through the motions. And I'm all for that, aren't you?

So while I may have a few more Blandena dates on the horizon, full of awkward conversations, I'm alright with that. It's just a sign that I'm living with an open heart, and perhaps a healthy sense of humor.

Hey gals. Happy Tuesday to you! I've been home sick today, making soup, cleaning my room, and oh yeah, binge watching the Queer Eye reboot that just came onto Netflix. (If you haven't watched it, go out and buy tissues, then hit play. You will be shedding a few tears, guaranteed.)

I've recently become a committed plant mom. Not a plant auntie. Not even a plant babysitter. No, a plant mom. When I got back from my trip to Europe a month ago, I had this strange urge to care for something. To make it grow. To be accountable. To nurture some lovely plant babies. High maintenance, low maintenance, it didn't matter. They would be my children and I their mumsy.

So what is it about buying plants that feels so attractive? What's up with this crazy millennial craze of going into plant shops and spending our barista tips on snake plants and pathos and little succulents and cacti that make you physically say "awe, what a sweetie!" in a baby voice out loud? While I can't speak for every millennial, I can tell you why I started collecting plants. And it starts with my mom (as most good things do).

I'm sure you've heard this before, but I really mean it: my mom is the best. When I was growing up, we would go on Costco dates, always winding up in the food court, where I'd get the berry smoothie (which would give me crazy brain freezes) and my mom would get the iced coffee. She helped me with all my school projects, my co-designer in creating everything from an amazing poster about Massachusetts to a presentation about Bessie Smith. She would laugh at my jokes even when they weren't that funny. She was my partner in crime. She has my back in any and every situation but also isn't afraid to tell me the hard truth, the truth I don't always want to face. But she's given me the courage to face it, knowing that I have worth and value.

But what the heck does that have to do with plants? Well. Along with being my superhero, my mom was also the superhero to a myriad of plants around the house. Some were in brass planters, others in simple clay pots, but they were all equally loved and looked after by her. My mom's claim to having so many plants around was to freshen the air in the house, but I have a theory that she just loved seeing things grow and flourish (something she is an expert in, let me assure you).

Yeah, she's also a mega babe, so there's that.

About two years ago, my parents moved out of our childhood home in Bend, Oregon. They were heading into a new chapter in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and their U-Haul could only hold so much. So along with random kitchenware and knick-knacks, they bequeathed me their kitchen succulents and cacti. And although they've been neglected a few times (thank the Lord that child services for plants doesn't exist), I've loved seeing them in my own kitchen. Yes, I've killed two of the cacti with overwatering, but I'd prefer to think of it as "over-loving" them. And I digress.

My parents have been living in Santa Fe for almost a year now, and every time I make a visit, I see new plants that've been adopted by my mom. She tells me about the ones that are giving her grief and the angel babies that are growing just by being there. She sends me pictures of the new plants she finds at Trader Joe's, smiling happily in the tub where she watered them.

So I guess for me, being a plant mama is less about being the plant wizard, and more about being a little bit more like my mom. Maybe someday I'll be on her level of plant whisperer, but no guarantees. Nevertheless, I'll continue collecting plants and possibly killing a few in the process, because it makes me think of my mom, and the way that she nurtures not only her plants, but also how she nurtures me. Thanks mom, you will always be plant mom goals to me.

When I was in fifth grade, I was overweight. With a round face and proportions much different than my other classmates, I felt self-conscious. I felt like there was something wrong with me, and worse, I felt ugly. Even though I played lacrosse and volleyball, my body just wasn't lean, and that really frustrated me, because when you're a fifth grader, things feel much more dramatic then they often are in the big picture. So one day, as I was looking at myself in the mirror in my messy room, I decided I would change my body. How, you ask? I would go on a diet.

The diet I chose? The South Beach diet. This used to be a pretty trendy diet, and it was essentially a diet that emphasized eating anything but carbs and sugar, the age-old demons of weight gain. At first, the diet was hard. My friends would be eating pizza and sandwiches and drinking Capri Suns and whatever-the-heck-they-wanted. I, on the other hand, would be eating turkey patties, low-carb protein bars, oranges and water. That was it. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I stayed faithful to the diet for almost five months, and I dropped a ton weight. I didn't look exactly like the string-beans in my class, but close enough.

I didn't go back to as much over-eating as I did before, when I would sneak into the pantry and eat mini marshmallows in secret, but I learned to have a healthier, balanced lifestyle, with exercise and nutritious eating.

I haven't "dieted" since then, although I was tempted to over the years, because even though I was healthy, I didn't look quite skinny enough. There's no daylight between my thighs, my cheeks are on the fuller side, and yes, I have a big butt. High school made me realize this all the more, when I would try and wear outfits that looked cool on a body type different than the one I have (PSA, American Apparel tribal print leggings do NOT look the same on curvy gals, I know first hand). And although I accepted my body in some ways, I cursed it in others. It made me feel like no guy would ever be attracted to me. Why would they go for someone like me when they could have someone with sharper features and a willowy physique? I had a good sense of humor, sure, and excellent taste in music and movies (I'm biased), but what good would that do me?

And I thought like that for a long time. Why? Why did I allow myself to do that? What makes a curvy body less beautiful than a skinnier one, can't they both be?

It's that time of year where a lot or us are becoming aware of the warmer weather that's just around the corner. We're heading to the gym any chance we get, hoping to shed our winter skin by the time that summer comes around. And I think that's amazing, and it's healthy to be active. But I want you to remember something as you make those trips:

Your weight does not define your beauty.

Let that sink in. Seriously. Meditate on that. Because it's true. Take it from someone who has battled with body image for the majority of her life. Your worth doesn't lie in whether you fit into a size 6 or a size 8. You are beautiful because of the soul inside of your body. The one that laughs and cries and has empathy for those around them. Beauty isn't something that can be earned at the gym or by eating copious amounts of kale. It comes from your character and how kind of a human you are.

I've come to a place of love with my body. Does it always look perfect? No. Will there always be stretch marks and bumps and parts of my body that aggravate me? Of course. But to fight with my body is pointless. All I can do is treat it with respect by being as healthy as I can and making sure I take care of myself the best way I know how, and the rest is out of my hands. So, please,please, please, give yourself some grace. You're beautiful at any size. Because beauty has nothing to do with the size of your waist, it has to do with the size of your heart.

Hey gals. It's the eve of Valentine's Day, and I don't know about you, but this holiday really snuck up on me this year. How does that always happen? In any case, I'm heading out of town tomorrow for a Galentine's getaway with a few of my favorite gals to the Oregon coast (cue the fresh ocean breeze and lots of delicious craft beer)

Nevertheless, I felt that it would be remise not to compile a survival guide to Valentine's Day for anyone among us who wants to turn an awkward day into one of the best of your week, maybe even month? I don't want to build this up to much, but still, I believe in you! So, singletons, let's take back Valentine's Day. Who's with me?

1) Watch Your Favorite Romantic Movie

(Anyone who says they don't like this movie is lying. It is one of my absolute favorites!)

This might sound counter-intuitive, but it's one of my go-to things to do on Valentine's Day normally, especially with a good glass of red wine (usually a red blend or an inexpensive-yet-amazing Italian red wine from Trader Joe's). Whether you're with your girlfriends drooling over the beautiful man or whether you're having a peaceful night to yourself, watching a movie full of romance and passion feels therapeutic. We live in a day and age full of lackluster "hey what's up" and "you're cute" messages on Tinder, so why not treat yourself to grand gestures and epic love stories on the screen?

A few of my favorite romantic movies: Romeo + Juliet (pictured above), 10 Things I Hate About You, Austenland, Pride and Prejudice (it's all about that Keira Knightley version, am I right?), Moulin Rouge, About Time, The Wedding Planner, The Wedding Date, Jane Eyre, and WAY too many more to list.

2) Have a Spa Day

It's easy to put ourselves to the side in day to day life, but no matter what your profession, whether you're a photographer always carrying heavy gear or a server who's on their feet for 8 hours at a time or even if you sit at a desk and look at a computer, you need time to take care of your body. Our bodies enable us to do so much cool stuff, like, well, being alive, and the least we can do it dedicate a little time to caring for our bodies. Of course, Valentine's Day is not a national holiday, so not all of us have ample time to unwind, but give yourself at least 15 minutes of self care. Maybe that looks like stretching to calming music, or maybe that looks like writing in a journal with a cup of lavender and chamomile tea on the table next to you. Maybe it's a 45 minute bath while listening to an episode of your favorite podcast with the Volcano Anthropologie candle glowing on the side of the tub. Maybe that looks like a whole day at the spa (take me with you, please?), whatever your budget and day allows for, give yourself a little TLC. Because, girl, no guy can treat you as good as you can treat you. Just being real.

3) Write Down 5 Things You Love About Yourself

One of my favorite things about myself?

Well, I love my vinyl collection! And my taste in music in general. I know it sounds silly and a little bit random, but I genuinely enjoy looking in this corner of my room, seeing my collection, and being like, 'Yeah, I love all that music!' Collecting vinyl from bands like Bread and Fleetwood Mac is something that my parents did when they were younger, and now I get to look for the same records.

Just because you're single does not mean you don't deserve complements, from yourself. Okay, if you're friends are doing their jobs, then you're hearing encouragement and complements all the time, but it's even more powerful coming from you. Especially coming out of the holidays, it's easy to look at all the things we need to improve upon, ie going to the gym more, texting people back, calling our relatives, watering the plants (or leaving them alone), but it's important to acknowledge your current victories and how you're slaying right now. We're our own worst critics, but we don't have to be. So, take at least 5 minutes, maybe more, and reflect on your favorite things about yourself. Your laugh, your lipstick game, your heart, whatever it may be. Once you're done writing those down, you could even read them out loud. Y'all, I'm not trying to sound insane or vain, but self love is so important. And especially on Valentine's Day. And everyday. Just try it, okay? For me?

4) Tell Your Best Girlfriends You Love Them

Your gals are those babes who are always there for you. They lift your mood, they go for late-night chicken nugget runs with you, they make fun of The Bachelor with you, what would life be without them? Throughout your day, even if it's just a text from the toilet (don't act like we don't all do that), tell them how much they mean to you. It can feel extremely vulnerable, but it's also so refreshing. People don't talk about their feelings. For crying out loud, "DGAF" used to be cool. But when it comes to your friends, YOU SHOULD GIVE A FUDGE (censored because fudge is good and my mom reads this blog, you know). So even if you're not buying them candy or even if you're apart on Valentine's Day, let them know how much you care. My favorite love language over text? GIFS. They're always from the heart.

5) Treat Yourself

You deserve it, gal.

Yeah, I said it. BE YOUR OWN SUGAR DADDY. Or Mama in this case. Either way! It doesn't matter if you're buying yourself a $7 bottle of wine instead of a $3 bottle, or if you're treating yourself to a cute new pair of shoes, give yourself a little gift. Gifts aren't everything, of course, but I personally believe that on a day where mythical "bae" is supposed to be bringing you breakfast in bed and a bouquet of roses with chocolate, you deserve to have a little something. Do you love Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Peanut? Then buy them! Do you love pepperoni pizza? Pick up, the phone, girlfriend, you're having pizza tonight. Whatever it is, treat yourself. It's one day. As Justin Bieber would say, "Love Yourself."

Have a wonderful Valentine's Day, babes! What're your plans for the day? Thanks for tuning in.

Hey gals! How's your week going? I've been going through so many of my old clothes and it's so therapeutic. And profitable. Both.

So, I'm going to talk about something that many single bloggers talk about: singleness.

It's the beginning of February, and everywhere I go, I'm surrounded by every shade of red and pink that exist, and cards finding hundred of clever ways to say "I love you." (My personal favorite so far has to be the Trader Joe's card that reads something like "Stuck On You." Trust me, it's very cute.) In the Dollar Tree, a whole quarter of the store is reserved for Valentine's Day gifts, where economic boyfriends buy Russell Stover chocolates for their ladies. Of course, the chocolate will taste terrible, especially if it's the dreadful chocolate and orange combo, but I'm sure their girlfriends will appreciate the effort. Because it meant that someone was thinking of them, on Valentine's Day.

I've never been in a relationship on Valentine's Day, or any holiday for that matter. No birthdays, Christmases, nothing like that. In fact, I've been single for most of my life. See, up until recently, I've been the type of girl that looks for the perfect guy and tries to hide it. Let's see how I can describe this. Okay, picture someone in a pink Paul Frank sweatshirt and blue braces on a treasure hunt. But there's a twist. This is a treasure hunt where you have to act like you're not looking for the treasure. So that girl in the Paul Frank sweatshirt appears to be going through the normal motions of middle school, attempting to look comfortable in skinny jeans, speed walking through the mile in P.E., etc, and all the while, peaking around every corner for bae. But unlike the ending of any self-respecting pirate movie, I did not find the treasure. Unless you call almost-relationships treasure, but I think those are more appropriately titled "wishful thinking," personally.

I've had my fair share of terrible Tinder dates (one was aptly located on Blandena Street), but I can't say it makes me bitter towards love. I used to view singleness as a curse, or as something that clearly indicated I wasn't deserving of someone's affection or love, but to be honest, I'm glad I'm single. It's made me exactly the woman I am today, the one who treats my friends like family and drives her grandma to get her hair done every Tuesday. I try not to think too philosophically all the time, but any alteration in my past and I could be someone else right now, and I'm glad I'm not. I'm proud of who I am and who I'm becoming, with or without a guy. Because the truth is, singleness is not a plague. It doesn't kill you. In my experience, it actually does the opposite: it makes you stronger.

So if you're a single reading this right now, know this: you are valuable, you are seen, and you are worthy. I would send you a bouquet of roses to tell you that if I could, but this will have to do. Even though this is a month that can sometimes swallow you whole, don't let it. You're amazing, just the way you are, and that's a fact.